


Christmas interrupted

by makimurakaori



Series: Shipwrecked verse [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Action & Romance, Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makimurakaori/pseuds/makimurakaori
Summary: Prompt : December 24th: It’s Christmas Eve and Michael must manage a grumpy captain, pregnancy scare, and Klingon aggressions all in one day.





	Christmas interrupted

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [uss_archangel_endofyear_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/uss_archangel_endofyear_2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> December 24th: It’s Christmas Eve and Michael must manage a grumpy captain, pregnancy scare, and Klingon aggressions all in one day.
> 
> The lyrics come from Fairytale of New York, a rather twisted and wonderful Christmas song by the Pogues and the late Kirsty McColl.

**_December 24th, 2266_ **

**Michael**

**8am**

_It was Christmas Eve babe_

_In the drunk tank_

_An old man said to me, won't see another one_

_And then he sang a song_

_The Rare Old Mountain Dew_

_I turned my face away_

_And dreamed about you_

Michael woke up to an empty bed. Sighing, she rolled over  to check the time.

8am

On Christmas Eve.

Normally, if all was right with with the world, she would  spend a lazy morning snuggled in Gabriel’s embrace, watching silly Christmas cartoons, Rafa safely tucked between them. The semester at the Academy lasted until February, and _Discovery_ wasn’t set to launch for their next year-long mission before May.

Alas, that wasn’t meant to be.

The call the day before had left no room for negotiation. She was expected to board the _USS Discovery_ at Starbase 1 at 1400 hours on December 24th before heading on a secret mission that needed their expertise.

 _Fuck_.

Michael stood up with a frustrated groan. The last thing she needed was missing Christmas with her men before leaving for a year.

Downstairs, she heard Gabriel preparing their breakfast--on Earth, we eat real food, he liked to repeat. Michael smiled in spite of the rather obnoxious amount of noise. Gabriel knew how to be stealthy, but today he didn’t even bother to try.

He was angry. And he had made his displeasure known quite clearly last night. If she hadn’t been at least as angry  at the situation as he was, she would have sent him to the couch.

But they couldn’t waste their last night before a mission like that. You never know what can happen on a mission.

Michael winced as her fingers touched the love bite  that Gabriel had left in the crook of her neck. They had been rougher than they usually were, biting and griping, angry and needy, but still careful not to wake Rafa up.

It had taken forever to get him to sleep. Exhaustion had finally claimed him as she’d been about to start the fifth chapter of _The  Hobbit_ \--one chapter before sleep was the usual rule. The way the five year-old had clung to her shirt, unshed tears caught in his eyelashes, had broken her heart.

But duty called.

As the smell of freshly made _churros_ reached her nostrils, and Rafa’s happy chatter her ears, she had to admit that she was more than happy to indulge Gabriel’s feelings about food. No replicator could reproduce the absolute delight of the kind of dietary blasphemy Gabriel could rustle up.

Michael cast an annoyed look at the uniform waiting for her. She would double her running routine on _Discovery_. No ill-timed secret mission would deprive her of a family breakfast.

Especially homemade Terran _churros_.

10am

Maybe it was the last unnecessary--but irresistible--helping of _churros_ , maybe it was Gabriel’s driving that was a bit more jerky than usual, maybe it was _something else_ , but Michael had a hard time fighting insidious nausea as they made their way to the spaceport. Gabriel and Rafa would accompany her to Starbase 1 before heading to Argentina where the other Lorca’s parents waited for them.

After more than five years, the way that the elderly couple had welcomed a man that wasn’t quite their son into their family still puzzled Michael. Admiral Cornwell had been right when she’d classified any knowledge of another _universe_ but it would have been impossible to fool them.

In the end the temptation to find a _replacement_ was simply too strong, and strong enough to guarantee their silence.

After the initial shock, they’d decided that, in the end, an almost son and a grandson were better than none at all.

Who could blame them?

And Gabriel needed a proper identity to stay in the Federation.

A proper grounding.

“Gabe,” Michael whispered, careful not to wake Rafa up. The boy was strangely immune to his father’s driving and slept like a log, comfortably secured in his child seat. “You know that’s what we signed up for.” She didn’t want to resume their argument, but if she could just get him to slow down, then she might be able to keep the contents of her stomach where it belonged.

He snorted, his eyes fixed on the coastal road. Since he didn’t bother to reply immediately, Michael focused on the scenery. The North Coast was really lovely.

Ocean. Cliffs. Wild flowers.

Not unlike _Kobol_.

The commute from Mendocino to Starfleet Academy was a bit long, but having their own nest in a smaller coastal town was priceless.

“We signed up for you to go on the occasional one-year mission starting in May, then settling for crappy holographic coms and me hiding my anxieties for months.”

That had been the plan when they discovered that she was pregnant with Rafa. She would go on with her career, and Gabriel would hold the fort at home.

No five-years missions.

No crazy stuff.

They had had their fill of it.

In terms of adventures, you couldn’t top a trip to another universe, reviving a dying civilization and saving peace with the Klingon empire.“What we didn’t sign up for is an assholish Admiral disregarding the tiny little fact that you have a life outside of Starfleet and destroying our plans.”

Michael protested half-heartedly. “Come on Gabe, he isn’t an asshole…”

Well, Admiral Pike thought that she’d thrown her career down the toilet and never hid it. Her refusal to embark on a five-year mission with the Enterprise had been received politely but disapprovingly a couple of years ago.

Not that she would admit this to Gabriel out loud.

“Yes, he is,” Gabe insisted stubbornly. “Far from me the idea of dismissing your expertise, but _Discovery_ shouldn’t be treated as some glorified emergency rescue service. You shouldn’t be their only go-to solution when an irresponsible fucker fries their navigation system trying to cross the Romulan neutral zone. I say let them die. Stupidity must be punished.”

Michael sighed again. He wasn’t supposed to know that.

“Who did you strong arm into giving you this intel?”

“No physical violence was used to gather this information, Ma’am.”

The hint of a mischievous smile formed on his lips. And his driving was smoother now.

“Who did you bribe?”

“The crew of the _USS Discovery_ is above that, you should know that, _Captain_.”

“Tilly spilled the beans, didn’t she?”

“Who else? You remember she had crazy plans with MacIdiot in Vegas, right?”

It was Michael’s turn to snort and roll her eyes. “Silly me. How could I forget?” Tilly’s love life was a bit chaotic at times, fuelled by her taste for pilots. _MacIdiot_ , or Alan Maguire, was one of them.

**1pm**

Rafa noticed Saru before they did and started to squirm in her arms until she let them him down. Once on this feet, Rafa ran to the Kelpian, who scooped up the boy up.

“How nice of you to come and see us, young man.” Behind the warm greeting, Michael could hear Saru’s ill-hidden apologetic tone.

“Well, I didn’t really want to -”

“Rafa!” Michael chided him. Saru gave Rafa an indulgent pat on the back. “That’s quite all right. I wish I didn’t have to ask you to come.”

“Admiral Saru,” she saluted, finding that this new rank definitely fitted her old friend like a glove.

“Michael, Lorca,” Saru returned the greeting, his long arms busy holding on to Rafa, now wriggling with a great deal of energy.. The long nap had rejuvenated him, and the discovery of new surroundings provided enough excitement to make him already forget why they were here in the first place.

For now.

“I am so sorry, Michael, I told High Command that it wasn’t necessary to deploy _Discovery_ for such a matter. But…”

“They see _Discovery_ as their _fire and rescue_ service ship.”

If Gabriel had relaxed a bit in the car, his displeasure was back with a vengeance now.

Saru blinked in his typical ‘deer caught in headlights’ way. “I wouldn’t put it that bluntly, but that is probably accurate. Admiral Cornwell sided with me, too, if you must know.”

“Which changes precisely nothing.”

Michael smiled as Saru struggled to find a polite and proper reply. It was petty, but she’d been dealing with Gabriel’s grumpiness for over 12 hours now. Any reprieve was welcome.

“Anyway, Captain Burnham, don’t linger. Find the ship in distress, assist the crew, then let them on their way. No need to stay near the neutral zone longer than we need.” Saru gave his orders with as much dignity as he could muster with a squirming Rafa in his arms.

Michael took pity and extended her arms in invitation. The boy immediately jumped ship, so to speak, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. For a second, she held him close, relishing the feel of his curls with her fingers--a haircut was in order soon.

“Understood. In and out. And we’re back before New Year’s Eve at the latest.”

Commanding the _USS Discovery_ had its perks. Instant travel, for example. It made impromptu missions like this one a bit easier on them. At the same time, it also meant that high command felt like they could send Discovery anywhere anytime at a moment notice.

She was partially responsible for this. She had written a long memo about her experience during the Binary Stars battle and the rest of the war in order to launch a necessary reflection about Starfleet’s inability to offer an adequate response in moments of acute crisis. She’d innocently believed that she might change a thing or two.

Instead, High Command had decided that _Discovery_ was their best option. Gabriel’s vindictive _I told you so_ still resounded painfully in her ears.

Michael turned to Gabriel, letting him embrace both her and Rafa.

“See. In and out. A week at most. Save some food for me.”

“I make no promises” Gabriel’s grumbling reply lacked conviction. “Be safe and beware of angry pointy ears.”

5pm

Michael bit her lips in frustration.

Mudd.

Harry Mudd.

Starfleet had sabotaged her Christmas plans to send her on a rescue mission for a damn smuggler who thought he could get away with anything.

But he was also Gabriel’s old partner, and without Mudd’s nanos… he Terran would have bitten the dust a long time ago.

And Michael probably wouldn’t be complaining about failed Christmas plans.

As much as he annoyed her, she owed him.

“Hey Starfleet, long time no see! So, I have this little problem. I tried to follow one of your man’s maps. But my mainframe isn’t exactly up-to-date. As a consequence, I’m kinda drifting close to dangerous waters if you know what I mean.”

Scratch that. The man was purely annoying, without a single redeeming quality.

On her left, she could see Tilly’s frown deepening. She was probably thinking about her plans in Vegas. A wave of silent hostility emanated from the rest of the bridge.

Her own patience was thin, to say the least.

Michael lifted her hand to silence the smuggler.

“I don’t want to know. We’ll pull your ship to our hangar bay. We’ll fix it as much as we can, and we’ll drop you on our way back to Earth. Deal?”

“Can’t you jump to the Orion system instead and…”

“Mudd? Normally, we should search your ship and arrest you for the prohibited items that we’ll surely find. We won’t.”

The smuggler scrunched his nose, deep in thoughts, probably devising an exit plan. Then he winked.

“Deal. And Merry Christmas by the way.”

The annoying gnat had the presence of mind to disconnect the communication before getting flooded under a barrage of insults from the bridge crew.

**6pm**

The crew had immediately started working on Mudd’s ship the second the smuggler had been successfully pulled onboard _Discovery_. With a little bit of luck, they would be back to Starbase 1 in time to enjoy Christmas with their loved ones.

Michael read one last time the report she was sending to Starfleet, reassuring high command that this was nothing more than a freak incident and that the Romulans had remained quiet on their side of the universe.

 _Of course_ , some parts were redacted.

 _Especially_ the part that mentioned that Mudd’s ship contained nothing suspicious.

_As if…_

_Naturally_ , she never heard Mudd’s intel about Cardassian ships moving around the fringe of Federation territory and buying Andoran artifacts and traditional weaponry from unscrupulous Klingon marauders who were still profiting from the ravages of the war.

Michael would inform Cornwell and Saru via other channels. Some delicate problems needed a more _personal_ approach with Chancellor L’Rell.

Shaking her head amusingly, she stretched lazily on the couch. Typing reports in her quarters on her back.Redacting reports. Using unofficial channels to get things done.

Wanting to go back home as fast as possible.

Gabriel had really rubbed on her.

In more than one sense.

In the background, the same song came back again and again, its uplifting melody soothing her, its deeply biting lyrics reminding her of Gabriel and the dark look he still cast on the world.

_You're a bum_

_You're a punk_

_You're an old slut on junk_

_Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed_

Still, she’d never admit to him that she found comfort on a lonely Christmas Eve in the dark, twisted hopefulness of _Fairytale of New York_.

_I could have been someone_

_Well so could anyone_

_You took my dreams from me_

_When I first found you_

_I kept them with me babe_

_I put them with my own_

_Can't make it all alone_

_I've built my dreams around you_

Michael couldn’t help but smile widely each time she heard the last verse.

Gabriel had dreamed of a throne and everything had collapsed, her world and his ambitions alike. Then, years later, they’d made the same dream, and against all odds, they’d made it work.

Abandoned on the coffee table, the test had beeped minutes ago, and she still hadn’t found the courage to look at it. Actually, she wasn’t sure what result she wanted to read.

A negative result would be a terrible disappointment, again, and would hit Gabriel hard if he ever heard about it. The nanos in his system made things… difficult, and getting pregnant with Rafa so easily had been nothing short of a miracle.

A negative result would hit her hard, too.

At the same time, Michael didn’t know how she would deal with a positive result when she was supposed to leave for a one-year mission in May.

She breathed deeply before reaching blindly for the test on the table.

**Gabriel**

**7pm**

_Ladies and gentlemen, due to technical difficulties, the shuttle SF-3578 to Buenos Aires spaceport has been postponed until further notice. We deeply apologize for the delay._

Lorca groaned when the same announcement resounded in the hall for the umpteenth time in the last three hours. They should have landed in Argentina by now, and been well on their way to San Carlos.

 _Fuck_.

_Ladies and gentlemen, due to technical difficulties, the shuttle SF-6927 to Amsterdam spaceport has been postponed until further notice. We deeply apologize for the delay._

“Fuck.”

His current companion of infortune showed even less restrain than he did. Lorca looked up at Cornwell, who was just back from a food hunting trip, and grinned, unable to resist the temptation.

“Admiral, you should show a better example.”

The only one who seemed oblivious to the current chaos so far was Rafa, too engrossed in the drawing he would send to his mother as a Christmas gift.

Cornwell sat down with a sigh of deep annoyance, handing him a bag of take-away food.

“I’m on shore leave and wearing civilian clothes. I can be as impatient as I wish.” She  dug up a sandwich from her own bag before casting a dark look at him. “And don’t you dare complain about the beer. Replicators are under assault right now.”

Lorca bit the sarcasm back before it was out of his mouth. He still grimaced after the first sip. Truth was, said beer was simply awful, only bearing a distant resemblance with actual ale.

Discarding the offending beverage, he picked Rafa up and handed him a plain ham sandwich. Cornwell had played it safe. Nothing could go wrong with a simple sandwich, right? At the very least, the boy didn’t seem to find the food too offensive. Or maybe he was too hungry to comment on it.

Or too well-behaved, thanks to Michael’s influence.

“Before you ask, I waved my pips around and got some news. Apparently, there’s a mining ship from the moon that crashed into dock F. Drunk pilot. Security is dealing with the debris and infrastructure damages before authorizing any take off.”

Lorca looked through the porthole. Well, that would explain the astronauts buzzing around their own dock. Still, there was something about their flying pattern that kept his attention.

“How’s Amsterdam?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the growing suspicion in the back of his mind.

Once a paranoid Terran…

“Marieke is fine, and says hello. She fully expects you to come and help on the houseboat this summer.”

**8pm**

Lorca stretched with a painful grunt, desperately trying to release the tension between his shoulders.

_Fucking Georgiou._

The cracking sound made him sigh in relief. As he sat down heavily, he noticed Cornwell’s sympathetic stare.

“Yeah, not getting any younger,” he admitted with a tender look at the child fast asleep between them. At first, not being able to move, and _fight_ , the way he used to had bothered him to no end.

But not anymore.

“Retirement suits you, Lorca. But I still need to pick up your brain about the cartography of the Maluria system after the holidays.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

_Ladies and gentlemen, due to technical difficulties, the shuttle SF-1483 to Beijing spaceport has been postponed until further notice. We deeply apologize for the delay._

**9pm**

_Ladies and gentlemen, due to technical difficulties, the shuttle SF-9217 to Sidney spaceport has been postponed until further notice. We deeply apologize for the delay._

People in dock A were getting impatient. Kids were crying. Travelers harassed the base personnel--something nobody would have dared to do in _his_ universe.

Bodies would have been piling up two hours ago and people would be waiting patiently.

However, the growing chaos inside didn’t interest Lorca as much as the events outside the station. He’d been looking through the porthole for half an hour now, and there was definitely something strange about the astronauts out there. Most of them had gone back to the station. There was no debris left that he could see.

So why the delay?

More importantly, what was the big deal with the guys still flying around deck F?

Lorca didn’t like what his guts were trying to tell him.

Careful not to wake Rafa up, he shifted him in his arms. Man, he was getting heavy. The sleeping boy’s only response was a half-hearted protest before he buried his face farther into Lorca’s neck.

“Remind me… the ancient Andoran artifacts that will be exposed in San Francisco next week, when were they supposed to arrive?” He asked in a low tone as he sat back at Cornwell’s side.

The immediate tensing of the Admiral’s posture told him that his guts might not be wrong.

“Today,” she replied even lower. “You don’t think…”

“Well, you told me I needed to work on my paranoid tendencies more than once, but you wouldn’t happen to know where said artifacts were supposed to arrive?”

Cornwell’s face turned white.

“Dock F.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He handed Rafa to Cornwell.

“Watch the 23.1.785 frequency, and contact Saru. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

**10pm**

_No honor among thieves._

Lorca watched the gory results of the slaughter in dock F from the air vent where he was hidden. Apparently, Klingon and Orion marauders had tried their hand at the heist of the century. His Klingon was rusty, but he remembered enough from his time in garnison on the _other side_. At least he knew enough to understand that the Orions had unsurprisingly decided to double cross their associates.

As a result, Orion bodies were scattered on the ground, along with Federation personnel caught in the crossfire. And now the Klingons had barricaded themselves in dock F, threatening to shoot at the shuttles arriving at Starbase 1, or taking off, and using one of the few Federation survivors to keep the rest of the base in the dark.

That was probably the only thing the ragtag group of wannabe raiders agreed upon.

An experienced negotiator like Cornwell should make small work of these guys.

Lorca sent the intel he had gathered to the Admiral and started to crawl back, swearing between his teeth. He hated confined spaces with a passion. He had spent too much time in them since his youth.

He hated space stations.

He hated _space_ , period.

**11pm**

Lorca watched the two Klingons playing with a device he couldn’t properly see from his hiding spot. They’d been working near the oxygen system far too long for his taste.

Apparently, Cornwell hadn’t been able to find an angle to strong-arm the marauders into negotiating yet, and the Klingons seemed to count on some unrevealed ace in their sleeve.

 _“This will do_. _Now we have to connect the remote to K’Romm’s heart.”_

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Lorca’s limbs moved before his brain totally registered the information. The struggle was short, and relatively silent. The nanos in his system awoke deeply ingrained reflexes.

Lorca observed the remote in his hand--the system was simple, he should be able to disarm it easily--then looked down at both raiders at his mercy. He had nothing to immobilise them with: he thought about hitting them unconscious again (Starfleet was rubbing off on him) but how long would they stay unconscious for? He counted at least ten Klingons in the hangar bay, and who knew how many more patrolling the area.

This was a risk he couldn’t take. Lorca looked down at the weapons he’d collected from the Klingons. It wasn’t his fault that Klingon phaser rifles didn’t come with a stun setting.

“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers.”

_**December 25th, 2266** _

**Michael**

**1am**

“So that’s the situation so far,” Saru summed up the situation, his long, thin hand reaching absently for his threat ganglias in a characteristic move that Michael knew all-too well.

Things were far worse than what he was telling her.

Forcing herself to relax her grip on the table of her ready room, she interrupted her old friend.

“How bad is really it, Saru?”

The Kelpian didn’t chasticize her for omitting his rank.

“Officially? Things are under control,” Admiral Saru said. “Between you and me? Hadn’t your husband been, well, _who_ he is, things would be much worse. Lorca is the reason why dock F hasn’t been vaporized yet.”

Michael groaned.

“But if they see any ship approaching, you don’t know what they’ll do.”

Saru’s silence was eloquent.

_Today of all days._

**2am**

“Risking that this K’Romm character blows up even part of the station is a big no. Cornwell and Saru can do little more than buy time. Gabriel found two more bombs, and has reduced the Klingon numbers, but as for now, his hands are tied.”

Michael cast a circular look at her crew gathered around the table of her ready room.

“I need ideas.”

Detmer raised her hand. “What’s the status of the civilians and personnel on board?”

“Admiral Cornwell negotiated evacuation of most of the civilians. Still, they have yet to start the process.”

 _And Rafa, albeit safe with Saru and Cornwell for now, was still on Starbase 1_.

“So we can’t get anywhere near this K’Romm guy? And Lorca hasn’t localized the last bomb?” It was Stamets’ turn to talk.

Michael nodded.

“So, if we can’t get near him, why don’t we neutralize his remote and the bomb from a distance?”

Every head in the room turned to Tilly, who shrugged. “What?  have the perfect weapon for that kind of situation.”

The wheels in Michael’s brain started to turn wildly. Tilly was onto something, but...

“The range of the EMP beam is too short for now, Tilly,” Stamets shook his head with a frown. “And it’s too unstable to try anything long-range.”

Stamets’ ever growing research on his spores had recently revealed they could be turned into an unstoppable EMP device if you introduced them into a network.

If they could use it, K’Romm would be automatically de-fanged.

“We just need to find a way to access the network on dock F, then. How about we ask Saru that they open a backdoor for us?” Bryce suggested hopefully.

Michael shook her head. “The Klingons are monitoring the activity on Starbase 1--apparently, we haven’t found all the holes they burrowed into Starfleet intelligence during the war.”

“How about accessing it from _Discovery_? I can devise a program fast enough. They’ll only see a glitch.”

Until now, Airiam--a discrete but steadfast First Officer now--had remained silent.

“But if _Discovery_ comes too close, K’Romm will react,” Detmer protested.

“Not if we jump in and out to leave a pre-programmed relay,” Stamets offered.

Michael nodded appreciatively. “Then Gabriel can catch it and connect it to dock F. If we get our timing right, that can work.”

Dock F would be a useless piece of junk for weeks after that--Stamets’ spores did not do their work delicately--but the solution, as imperfect it was, looked slightly better than all the other options.

**3am**

_Got on a lucky one_

_Came in eighteen to one_

_I've got a feeling_

_This year's for me and you_

_So happy Christmas_

_I love you baby_

_I can see a better time_

_When all our dreams come true_

Michael winced as soon as communication was established with dock F. Apparently, Gabriel had managed to secure a hideout for himself, and access to coms without the Klingons noticing it.

He looked… terrible. Split lip. Black eye. Dried blood on his T-shirt.

“So, let me sum this up. I have to find a space suit. Get out of here. Float around while making sure that this idiotic and Klingon version of Hans Grueber doesn’t catch me. Wait for you to jump in and out. Collect the relay. Connect it to dock F. What else? A hug and a massage?”

Gabriel sounded unconvinced, to say the least. And he wore his worst _I hate people_ expression, one she hadn’t seen in ages.

“ _You_ look and sound as if you could do with a massage,” Michael smiled, trying to appease her grumpy husband.

For a man who claimed a few years ago that he didn’t understand all the humbug about what was after all just winter solstice, he sure was making a lot of noise about their interrupted Christmas.

She observed Gabriel’s face as he tried to maintain his sour expression, in vain.

“And how’s that gonna happen ?”

“I think Inés and Jorge won’t mind if we book a room for two at the Llao Llao for a couple of days. If we can get the room with the insane jacuzzi...”

A smile, at last, albeit a small one, immediately followed by a grimace of pain. Michael frowned in sympathy. Split lips were a pain.

“You kidding? At times, I wonder if they wouldn’t rather see us go to the hotel all week and keep Rafa just to themselves.”

More than anything, it had been Rafa’s birth that had made this improbable arrangement with the Lorcas possible.

“Wait until the second grandchild arrives, and they’ll definitely kick us out. So now, go and find a spacesuit. We have things to talk about and plans to make all over again.”

The expression of pure, unadulterated, youthful wonder that formed immediately on Gabriel’s beaten face was a sight she could never get tired of.

“Aye, aye, _Captain_.”

**4am**

“Everything is in place. K’Romm has agreed  the evacuation of the last civilians in dock F via escape pods. He still refuses to see any ship approaching the site, but it might work in our favor.” Admiral Cornwell sighed tiringly. The contrast between her civilian attire and her formal expression was striking.

In the background, Michael could distinguish the form of Rafa, fast asleep in Saru’s arms.

“The escape pods will provide cover for Gabriel who will be able to slip out unnoticed.”

“That’s the idea,” Admiral Cornwell nodded. “Now everything is in your hands, Captain Burnham. Honestly, I am at my wit ends. Arguing with a wall of bricks is easier than talking to this K’Romm character.”

“Couldn’t you get Chancellor L’Rell to intercede?” Michael asked the question that had been burning her lips since the start of the commotion at Starbase 1.

“I talked to the Chancellor, and she gave us some intel about his background. It helped. But let’s say that L’Rell talking to him would have made things worse.”

“One of the Klingons whose career dreams were disrupted by her rise to power?”

“Exact.”

Michael swore inwardly. Ten years since the war had started, nine years since it had ended, and there were still people on both sides that still missed those  dreadful days.

“Anyway, we’ll contact you as soon as everything is set. Good luck, Captain.”

**Gabriel**

**5am**

For the tenth time in as many minutes, Lorca checked his monitor. He was at the right spot, at a safe distance from the station, using a meteorological satellite as cover. _Discovery_  should appear anytime now.

Finding the space suit had been the easy part. Sliding out of dock F unnoticed had been a bit trickier. Clinging to an escape pod has been quite a crazy but fun ride.

Now all he had to do was wait, and contemplate the sight under him. As much as he hated space, this view of Earth still fascinated him. He was just above Europe at the moment. The British Isles and Scandinavia were hidden behind clouds, but he could see the Mediterranean regions very clearly, the neat outline of Italy and Sicily, the smaller islands, the lights of the big cities.

When he had first traveled to this universe, ten years ago, a lifetime ago it seemed at times, discovering maps that showed regions that had been underwater for a long time in his own universe had been like a punch in the stomach. Now, he needed a real effort to remember what _his_ Earth looked like.

He liked _this_ sight better. Much better.

After the chaos of the previous hours, the silence and loneliness were soothing.

However he considered the situation, he had relapsed. The adrenalin surge as he was fighting Klingons had been unmistakable. Killing his enemies never brought him particular pleasure--he just felt perfect indifference doing so.

But the proximity of danger always made him feel more alive.

_Once a Terran soldier, always a Terran soldier, to the end of his days._

A light distortion announced the arrival of _Discovery_. The ship was only there for a few seconds in a _blink-and-you-miss-it_ fashion. Stamets had become quite the seasoned navigator over the years.

Lorca looked around him for the relay. He found it a few yards from him, at the exact determined position.

If anybody asked him, he would say that Captain Burnham’s _Discovery_ was the best ship in Starfleet, period.

He grinned proudly in spite of his split lip. The whole crew was a damn fine one nowadays, and knowing that he contributed a little to this fact still filled him with pride.

**6am**

Lorca could listen to Cornwell as she confirmed her approach. After endless negotiations, K’Romm had accepted her offer : his own shuttle to any destination he desired. The Klingon had played hardball, but finally caved.

It had been decided that a single shuttle would approach dock F, piloted by Cornwell in person. Lorca didn’t like it too much, but the shuttle was his ride back to the station, and the Admiral had proved that she could hold her own against Klingons.

The problem in Lorca’s opinion was that this one was particularly stupid. Stupid was always extremely dangerous.

And Cornwell was exhausted, if her jerky piloting was any indication. He almost released the relay twice during the short ride.

“Careful, Admiral, don’t catapult me into orbit.”

“Hold on tighter and shut up. We’re almost here, and we don’t want K’Romm to be any more suspicious than he already is.”

She had a point.

And their destination was getting closer. It was time for him to go his own way.

“And off I go,” he whispered into the coms and released his grip on the shuttle. letting the law of physics propulse him to the hatch he had previously used to get out of the station. The speed was good, and he only needed to adjust his trajectory with his arm propellers.

To be honest, this part of being in space was fun.

Floating around, miles above Earth.

Having a glimpse of a surreal sunrise.

Wrapping up the mission before huggin Rafa.

Waiting for Michael.

Preparing for another rugrat, _at long last_.

Lorca smiled to himself as he opened the hatch.

_You were handsome_

_You were pretty_

_Queen of New York City_

_When the band finished playing_

_They howled out for more_

_Sinatra was swinging,_

_All the drunks they were singing_

_We kissed on a corner_

_Then danced through the night_

**6:10am**

_Two to go._

The last part of whoever’s plan was quite easy but still demanded some more legwork, or rather more crawling through air vents.

Lorca suppressed a growl of pain when his left kneecap came into contact with a protruding screw.

 _Fuck_.

If he could complain to anyone right now, he would tell them how little he actually thought of a plan that relied on circulating through cramped spaces. In the distance, he could distinguish a pool of light that indicated his next stop.

He had already positioned the first beacon for the triangulating relay _Discovery_ intended to use to shut dock F down--and any explosive device that might still be present.

“Come out to Starbase 1 with me, we’ll see old friends together, have a few laughs…” Lorca whispered between clenched teeth. “I fucking hate space.”

**6:15am**

_One to go._

At the other end of the hangar, K’Romm was getting impatient. As Lorca moved stealthily from one abandoned crate to a loading machine, he could hear the Klingon pacing around and Cornwell doing her best to pacify the ever suspicious thief.

“I’ve changed my mind, woman,.” the Klingon growled. “You’ll come with us. Insurance.”

“K’Romm, this wasn’t what we agreed upon,” Cornwell replied in her most patient voice. “We guaranteed your safety under the condition that you and your remaining men went your way leaving the artifacts in our custody.”

“Rules have changed.”

K’Romm gestured his remaining men to load their loot onto the shuttle.

Lorca swore under his breath. This Klingon was really a moron.

_Just you wait, you assholes._

**6:18am**

The last beacon was in place. Lorca waited for the signal indicating that the synch process had started.

When the light turned green, he smiled, split lip forgotten again, and went in search of a usable weapon. Like every last bit of electronics on dock F, his phaser would be perfectly useless in a few minutes. He needed something _reliable_ like the big wrench abandoned on the floor a few yards from him.

_Now I have a wrench. Ho-ho-ho._

**6:25am**

Everything went dark.

 _Well done_ Discovery.

Lorca made his move, progressing in the shadows easily. If bright light was an inconvenience, darkness was a friend to Terrans, always had been.

K’Romm tried to detonate the bomb, in vain.

His men fired at Cornwell, in vain.

Furious, the Klingons charged at her with a growl but she evaded them.

Then Lorca smashed the first piñata.

_Feliz Navidad, boludos. Y bienvenidos a nuestra fiesta._

**Michael**

**7am**

_Ladies and gentlemen. The shuttle SF-1483  to Beijing spaceport is now ready for take off. Please board immediately._

Starbase 1 was humming with renewed activity, relief evident on every face Michael could see as she followed Saru through the busy corridors of dock A.

Tilly’s plan, as crazy as it was, had worked perfectly.

Everybody was safe. Some might call it a Christmas miracle.

“So, High Command is not very happy with the fact that dock F is probably out of service for an extended duration and, naturally, questions the safety of Lieutenant-Commander Stamets’ new research,” Saru explained. He had a hard time hiding his disdain for his direct higher-ups, a sure sign that her friend was exhausted.

“They’ll live with it.”

“Of course,” Saru chuckled. “This was some formidable teamwork, Burnham, truly.”

“It was indeed, from all parties involved. How are K’Romm and his guys?”

Saru chuckled again. “Most of them will live. Some weren’t so lucky. Not a pretty sight, though. And that is only the beginning of K’Romm’s woes, I’m afraid. Chancellor L’Rell sent us a petition for extradition. She might want to make an example out of this crew.”

Michael shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes for all the gold-plated latinum of the universe...”

Saru nodded.

_Ladies and gentlemen. The shuttle SF-3578 to Buenos Aires spaceport is now ready for take off. Please board immediately. Last call to all passengers._

“We’ll talk more later. I shall read about your report as soon as possible. Merry Christmas, Captain.”

“Merry Christmas, Admiral.” Michael watched as Saru’s long hands covered hers.

Years ago, a Kelpian had defied the constraints of his world and sent a signal to the stars his people feared so much. Then, a Starfleet officer had given him the chance of a lifetime. Saru had kept this story for himself for a very long time. “ _She_ would be very proud.”

She felt Saru’s hands press hers again.

“Now off with you. Don’t miss your flight.”

**Gabriel**

**7am**

“Dad? When are we arriving at _abuelo_ Jorge y _abuela_ Inés? I want a _medialune_ when we arrive. Can we go to the lake? You promised we’d go fishing…”

Blinking, Lorca considered his perfectly rested son who was jumping on his seat with excitement.

Rafa had slept through the whole commotion.

And now, he was back to his usual, energetic five years-old self, as if nothing had happened.

Too tired to entirely process the child’s questions, and unwilling to commit to anything he could regret later in his current state of exhaustion, Lorca avoided the barrage of enquiries as much as he could.

“We’ll ask Mom.”

“Why are we so late? Why are there no lights on the other side?”

Lorca sighed. “Beats me.” He was pretty sure that telling the child that his parents had something to do with it was a big no.

Unexpectedly, instead of pressing on, Rafa went silent before turning to his father with big worried eyes. “Does Santa know that I won’t be at our house today?”

There was no escaping this one. Lorca prayed for Michael to appear right now.

“Of course he does, pumpkin.”

Lorca was not sure whose smile was bigger, his son’s or his, when Michael spoke. There was something magical in her voice that appeased Rafa’s worries instantly. Lorca knew that the same answer from him would only have launched a more anxious barrage of questions.

Totally reassured, Rafa turned his attention back to the window.

“Ungrateful creature,” Michael mouthed disbelievingly before collapsing in her seat. Lorca chuckled and wrapped his arms around her shoulder after he secured Rafa’s belt.

“I called the Llao Llao. We’ll have a room for New Year’s Eve. With the decadent jacuzzi.”

“Who did you threaten?”

“Promised a special tour of Starfleet installations for the kids.”

“So you used my name.”

“Yup. And Cornwell’s.”

“You have no shame.”

“Nope.”

 _Ladies and gentlemen. We are happy to announce that the shuttle SF-3578 to Buenos Aires spaceport is now ready to take off. Again, we present our deepest apologies for the delay and wish you a good flight._ _Merry Christmas.”_

**Michael**

**8am**

Michael blinked when the personnel announced they would arrive at Buenos Aires in one hour. Her shoulder was slightly aching from the weight of Gabriel’s head. She stretched in her seat carefully, trying not to wake him up. Rafa was totally absorbed by the illustrated story on his padd, safely settled on his father’s lap.

Smiling, she absently rubbed her stomach and inclined her seat, eager to doze off for another hour.Gabriel mumbled against the movement in his sleep.

_The boys of the NYPD choir_

_Were singing "Galway Bay"_

_And the bells were ringing out_

_For Christmas day_

 


End file.
